In Another Life, In Another World | By : White Glove Literature Category: G through L > Game of Thrones Views: 38429 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones or the characters within, nor do I make money from this story. |
It had been happening for a few weeks now. Not frequently, at first, but more and more lately, as Joffrey grew more comfortable with the encounters. It had started about three weeks ago, when he stumbled across Arya and her younger brother rutting in a fallen tower, in the dead of Night. She was a convenient enough way to satisfy his urges when he could not be alone with his sister, especially since the news broke that they were now betrothed. The announcement of their marriage seemed to infuriate Arya more than her stupid sister.
He knew it was wrong to condemn her for her relationship with her little brother when he had the same relationship with Myrcella. Still, he had begun to look forward to initiating these encounters. The fierce anger and resentment burning in her dark eyes during them furthered his pleasure. The idea that she was so unwilling, unlike all the girls he had been within the Capital. That spark of fury in her eyes as she glared at him, struggling inside to hide the signs of her pleasure as he lay panting on top of her, his hips moving against hers. That smug Northern pride of hers replaced by bitter acceptance.
His father would kill him if he discovered that he had deflowered his betrothed before their wedding, but so far, nobody had found his secret, and she showed no signs of revealing his inappropriate hobby. He was a prince of the realm. He should not be taking such liberties with his betrothed before they were wed. But it was fun to bend her to his will. To force his willful wife-to-be to submit when he knew she would much prefer to run him through with that stupid sword of hers. How she had managed to keep it was beyond him. He only assumed she had managed to keep it hidden as they traveled the King's Road back to King's Landing.
He had recently forced her to start participating in his liaisons with Myrcella as well, who had been surprisingly eager to experiment with the stubborn wolf girl, to his surprise and delight. Images of the many sick and disturbing things he had made her do when the three of them got together worried him for a moment, fearing that she would rebel and tell someone, but he couldn't seem to help himself. Even now, the fears that her resistance would grow, and she would tell her father nagged him; he shoved them from his mind. He told himself repeatedly that he was in for a penny already, so why not a pound.
******
(Flashback Starts)
Walking down the corridors of the Red Keep, he had just left one of the informal dining halls, where he had been required to have lunch with the King, his father—sighing mentally in frustration at his anger towards the man who seemed to do little more than bellow and stuff his face while leering at the servants who waited on him. His father had insisted on having yet another talk about the future and his responsibilities as a prince.
As his mother referred to the man, Robert, the fat drunk fool, once again belittled him for not being the man he thought he should be. Complaining about his lack of interest in being a warrior and for not treating the Starks, those miserable barbarians from the North, with the proper respect he felt they deserved. Honestly, why his father treated them so well was beyond him. His father's friend, Ned Stark, was in his personal opinion, an arrogant and up-jumped fool who considered himself the equal of his father. At the same time, his daughters, Sansa and Arya, were merely stupid, boring girls. Sansa was a silly fool who droned on endlessly about things that meant absolutely nothing to him. She had spoken unceasingly of the future they would share as King and Queen, how beautiful and perfect their life would be, the children they would have. It was enough to make him want to hit her sometimes, but his father would be furious. Thankfully, she had been left behind in the North, to be fostered at the Dreadfort with her betrothed.
Besides, his mother insisted he would one day have to marry Lord Stark's youngest daughter and to pay her the occasional courtesy would be helpful in the future. Arya was wild and willful. Foul-mouthed and full of herself, just like her brothers back in Winterfell. The girl had no sense of decency whatsoever. Insisting on playing with swords instead of knowing her place and acting as a proper lady should. He had been looking for a way to get even with her since she had humiliated him and thrown his new sword into the river during their ride South, shortly after he had taken her maidenhead in that broken tower.
He was desperate to get one over on her and was sure he had just found the perfect way. Earlier that day, he had observed her training with a sword in one of the Red Keep's empty conference rooms and decided to expose her secret to her father, who would surely punish her severely.
Walking into the room, empty save for the two of them, he smirked, watching as she turned to face him at the sounds of his footsteps. Her face scrunched up with rage as she spotted him, her eyes clouded with resentment and fury as she clenched her fists, preparing to challenge him. He swept forward slowly, content in the knowledge that his status protected him, a smirk on his face.
XxxxxxX
In the stables of Winterfell, Jeyne propped herself up against the side of a wooden stall as Jon thrust into her ass from behind, panting and grunting, his woolen breeches around his ankles. He had intended to leave for the Wall when Lord Stark headed South, but Bran had fallen from the broken tower in a mysterious accident, and Robb had pleaded with him to stay. Heartbroken and filled with sorrow, Lady Stark had refused to leave Bran's side. Worried for Robb and seeking to help him with the burden of his new duties, he had agreed to stay on as Robb's new Steward, replacing Vayon Poole, who had traveled south with Lord Stark.
Jeyne had been forced to remain behind, and Jon continued to take full advantage of his new pet's charms. Thrusting forcefully into the girl from behind, eliciting another muffled cry from her lips, Jon grinned. Before leaving for the Capital, Lord Stark had surprised everyone when he announced a gift from his friend, the King. A decree was giving Jon the Stark name. Catelyn was furious and had refused to say goodbye to her husband before he left. Leaning down over the sobbing Jeyne's shoulder, he whispered in her ear. "Our fun is just getting started, girl." He laughed as he pulled out of her ass and pushed her to her knees in front of him.
XxxxxxX
The Dothraki camp outside was filled with the sounds of revelry as the wedding festivities raged on, well into the evening. Drogo had taken her a short distance from the main body of the camp to bed her. He was much larger than her brother and was far more gifted. Viserys rarely lasted more than a few thrusts during the months he had "trained her" to make the Khal happy, all so he could have his army. She sometimes wondered whether Viserys realized what he was getting himself into with the Dothraki. The Khal and his khalassar were nothing like what Viserys had told her to expect. She was not sure what to make of the man yet, she decided, lying under the horse-hide pelts that served as blankets, in the tent she shared with the Khal.
XxxxxxX
Theon lay on his side in Lord Stark's bed in the Tower of the Hand. Beside him, Lord Stark lay slumbering after having used him yet again for his pleasure. By now, he was numb to this chore, having accepted it as part of his life. He was surprised when Lord Stark insisted that he accompany him to the Capital instead expecting that he would be left behind at Winterfell, to ensure his father's good behavior, and support Robb. Robb was like a brother to him. That had changed with Jon's legitimization. Instead of joining the Night's watch, Jon would become Robb's right hand, and he, Theon, would remain as squire to Lord Stark.
TBC
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